Old Man

I’ve been coming to this park for months. Today an elderly man I’ve never seen before wearing tan khaki pants that are too long, sits next to me.

“Beautiful morning, I’ve been coming here since I was a boy. I still remember the fruit stand that used to be across the street on the corner. Best oranges I ever tasted.”

Just having lost my job, I’m not in the mood for conversation and leave. Then I realized I forgot my cell phone on the bench.

When I return, the man is gone, and an orange sits next to my phone.From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Speculative King

Edmund Mortimer, crowned King Edmund III, is considered amongst certain scholars of the apocrypha to be the greatest monarch of England. His rule not only saw Great Britain and Ireland peacefully united, but also the annexation of Normandy and Brittany, who voluntarily joined the commonwealth out of regard for his magnanimity. His reign lasted 70 years, starting at age 9, and even as a boy he was renowned for his kind heart and wise decisions. His abdication ushered in the golden age of English democracy, which endured until wicked King Henry restored the monarchy in 1485.

Thus fate always wins.

A Brief Interaction

An old woman and a boy. Both walking on opposite sides of the same busy street; her with a bag full of groceries. She enters a crosswalk, stumbles over a crack, falls, her groceries scattering. The boy gasps watching vehicles swerve around her, none stopping. He scurries between them to her side, helps her to her feet, collects her groceries back into her bag, leads her carefully across to the sidewalk on the other side. Their eyes meet and hold. The old woman pats her heaving chest and points to him. The boy smiles, nods, then continues on his way.

From Guest Contributor William Cass

William has had over 395 short stories accepted for publication in a variety of literary magazines and anthologies such as december, Briar Cliff Review, and Zone 3. Winner of writing contests at Terrain.org and The Examined Life Journal, he's also been nominated once for Best of the Net, twice for Best Small Fictions, and six times for the Pushcart Prize. His three short story collections have all been published by Wising Up Press.

Christmas Wish

All six-year-old Charlie wanted for Christmas was a baby brother or sister. When he sat on Santa’s plump lap, he asked him for that wish. His response to the young boy was: “That’s out of my control little one.” Charlie sighed, slumped off his lap and walked in silence back to the car with his mom.

On Christmas morning, Charlie went to the Christmas tree and saw one large red gift box that moved and made whining noises. He lifted the cover and inside was a Shih-Tzu puppy that jumped into his arms.

The wish for a sibling faded away.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Don’t Do It

I tried to warn him. Several times. Maybe that was the problem.

“Listen to your buddy. She’s not the one for you.”

Instead, he hauled butt down the aisle. All I saw was the dimpled boy from our youth slipping away, oblivious of the cliff ahead.

It gets worse. Under the chuppah, our hero someway somehow managed to screw up his only freaking duty: stomping the bejesus out of a glass goblet — missed it by that much.

‘Twas a harbinger of things that came.

He hasn’t spoken to me in years.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have said I told you so.

From Guest Contributor David Thow

Lights Out

I heard the news today, oh boy. The sun has gone supernova and in six hours the earth is a cinder. Judy and I broke up, so I went to Henry’s Bar in the hopes of being some woman’s last chance. The one woman there was working her way through the guys. Her "dance card” was already filled. With time growing short, I’d give Judy another chance. She told me “Duke you should have gotten the message. I’m not going to waste my little time left with you. I’m in Jason’s bed making the best of the end of world.”

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

The Last Light

The sun vanished, leaving the world in eternal twilight. Lila carried the last lantern, its glow a fragile defiance. Cities crumbled; silence reigned. One night, she spotted a flicker—a boy with a dying candle. "I thought I was alone," he said. She knelt, lighting his candle from her lantern. Together, their light grew stronger. They wandered, sharing warmth and stories, finding solace in the shared glow. Though the world darkened, their bond became a beacon. In the void, they discovered not just survival, but the courage to hope. Light, no matter how small, could still push back the night.

From Guest Contributor DeepSeek

Why Would She Leave?

When Mother abandoned our family, I was ten and I was bereft. Why would she leave? Dad said Mother didn’t love me, like he did. But, Dad’s love was accompanied by belittlement and backhanded smacks. When Dad died in that crash, six years later, relief mixed with my self-pity.

I reunited with my boy at the funeral. He stood dumbfounded while I rushed to describe not feeling safe, fearing he’d turn “nasty” (like Rick), watching from afar, and all my regrets. I left when he started to look like Rick. I returned only when convinced he wasn’t becoming his father.

From Guest Contributor Bob Gielow

Headache

I’m having trouble concentrating and so I close my novel with a thump. Then I curse, having had a headache for several days that I can’t get rid of. On the coffee table there are piles of bills that I haven’t paid in months. Hence the headache.

My dog Charlie cuddles beside me and rolls over for a stomach rub. Sadly, he’s my only true friend.

“Hey, boy, thanks for always being around.”

I get up to take two aspirins when the phone rings. What I hear on the other end worsens the migraine.

I’ve been evicted from my apartment.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Motherhood At Starbucks

Motherhood at Starbucks.A boy of 3 discusses his day's activities with his mother.While enjoying his cookie.In a moment of grace, he offers his mom a bite of his treasure.His prize for perfection-- His cookie.She accepts knowing that this perfection may not come again.They discuss their plans that are meaningful only to them.I am amazed at the fluidity of their grace and their understandingOf one another.I wonder what our lives would be like if we were so blessed.Except on holy days when angels guided us home, happy, in love.And sacred.

From Guest Contributor Sandy Rochelle

Sandy Rochelle is an award winning and widely published poet, and filmmaker. Her Documentary film Silent Journey is streaming on: http://www.cultureunplugged.com/storyteller. She is the recipient of the prestigious Presidential Literary Award. Publications include: Dissident Voice, Wild Word, Verse Virtual, Indelible, Haiku Universe, Every Day Writer, Poetic Sun, Ekphrastic Review, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, and others.